


Tréville: Homecoming

by Colombenoire4hope



Series: Love me back to life [1]
Category: In the Flesh (TV), The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Death, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Uprising, Violence, inseparable, mention of past abusive relationships, ressurection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-12 15:54:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2115855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Colombenoire4hope/pseuds/Colombenoire4hope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>D'Artagnan survived the death of his friends once, and then he managed to pull through the Zombie apocalypse relatively intact, he'd be damned if he let that second chance be taken away from from him.</p><p>Where Athos, Porthos and Aramis come back from the dead and relearn what it means to be alive and Constance, Tréville and D'Artagnan come along for the ride. If only Richelieu could keep to his own business...</p><p>++++</p><p>When Tréville got the call from the Treatment center, he couldn’t believe it.<br/>His boys were comming home.</p><p>Tréville losses hope and finds it again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tréville: Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

> so....  
> this is not exactly a crossover more of a "I took the concept of In the flesh and applied it to my musketeers fanfic" type of thing.
> 
> This series will be composed of 4 fics:  
> 1.Tréville: Homecoming-One shot  
> 2.D'Artagnan/constance: Brotherhood and confort: two-shots  
> 3.Athos/Porthos/Aramis: Title not decided yet: Three shots  
> 4\. Le grand ending: Title not decided: probably one-shot
> 
> The title of this series may come from Celine Dion's most recent album.... I Regret nothing!
> 
> For those who do not know in the flesh (shame really, it's an amazing show) here are the main points:  
> -Basically, the plot is post-apocalypse: The government found a cure that stop zombies from needing to eat brain and gave them their conscious back. These PDS are then reintegrated into society.  
> -The uprising refers to when the dead came out of their graves  
> -This cure is an injection made at the back of the neck that releases a chemical that allows to rebuild the connections in the brain.  
> -PDS is the abreviation of "Partially deceased Syndrome" and is the "political" term for Zombie. "rotter" also means Zombie but is offensive.  
> -Untreated state or rabid means "when they were eating brains". This is either before they were treated or if they forget to take their medecine.  
> -The HVF "Human Volunteer Force" are the men and Women who took arms and fought during the uprising killing zombies for survival. NOT EVERY HVF MEMBER ARE OPPOSED TO THE REINTEGRATION OF PDS IN SOCIETY. Some of them are, yes, but HVF does not refer to the group against this.  
> -Physical appearance: Pale skin, white eyes and deformed pupil. They can't eat or drink (internal organs are a mush) no heartbeat. Basically they were rotting when that process was interupted. here have a few pictures: http://ladygeekgirl.wordpress.com/2014/07/28/suffering-from-partially-deceased-syndrome-in-in-the-flesh/  
> -They have to wear makeup and contact lenses to look normal  
> -Treatment center is where they are treated  
> -This show is amazing. seriously. Go watch.
> 
> I think this is all I need to say... If there is anything you don't understand, please ask :)
> 
> enjoy!

**Tréville: Homecoming**

 

At first, when Tréville got the call from the Treatment center, he couldn’t believe it. The lady on the other side of the line didn’t bother to give him a moment to digest the news and kept explaining in a bored tone all type of stuff he probably should be listening too but didn’t hear over his own heartbeat thumping wildly in his chest.  
“Will you be taking them in, sir?”  
“yes, yes, of course”  
He stumbled a bit over his words as he answered a few more questions and the conversation ended before he was finished processing what had happened and what he had agreed to.

They had been found

The former captain hung up with trembling hands and took a minute to sit down and breathe. He hadn’t dared to hope this would happen and yet it had.  
“They’re back” he muttered “They’re back. They’re back!”  
A nervous smile crept on his face and he raised his head to fix his stare on a small photograph on top of the mantelpiece. Three faces grinned back at him and his own smile widened.  
“You’re coming home, boys”

)0(

The first natural thing to do was tell D’Artagnan. The boy had been as close to them as he had and would definitely want to know that his comrades were back. Having him as a neighbor (the one on his left, to be precise) proved to be convenient in this moment. As expected, he took the news really well and certainly didn’t take as long as Tréville to have it sink in.  
“CONSTANCE” He bellowed, “They’re back! They found them!”  
Constance’s initial annoyance at the screaming melted when she heard the reason for it and the couple started hugging and kissing joyously. Before Tréville had time to fidget, wondering what to do with his person, he was suddenly grabbed by both arms, Constance on one side and D’Artagnan on the other , and dragged inside for a cup of tea.  
“When will we go pick them up?” asked D’Artagnan once he had calmed down, not doubting for a second that he was coming with Tréville.  
“On Monday”  
With a satisfied nod, the young man eased back on his couch and turned his stare outside, his eyes shining as his thoughts turned back to old memories. Constance laid her head on his shoulder in silence and wrapped her arms around his waist.

Tréville left them then, giving them their privacy. He had his own memories he wanted to revisit.

)0(

Athos, Porthos, Aramis. The three inseparables, the best soldiers of his regiment and his biggest cause of headaches. These three had the bad habit of getting themselves in the worst situations possible and still come out laughing, successful and reasonably intact. This had gotten worse when D’Artagnan tagged along and Tréville had been counting the days before they would end up being the death of him.

He hadn’t expected them to die first.

It was supposed to be a regular mission except it went horribly wrong and ripped out a chunk of the captain’s heart when the three men he had grown so fond of never returned. D’Artagnan never forgave himself, convinced he could have done more despite the fact that he had been wounded and dragged away from danger by Aramis who had then ran back to aid his brothers. The three inseparables. Even in death.  
Not getting attached to his men was a number one rule in the captain’s book, death being a constant companion on the battlefield, and yet he had come to consider these three (and later on D’Artagnan) as the sons he never had.  
Their death destroyed him. Both he and D’Artagnan retired and returned to France, hoping to find peace. They weren’t lucky.

The following year, was the year of the uprising. As the dead came back to life and started munching on the brains of the living, both men (and Constance for that matter) had to take up arms once again to survive. When the government found the antidote and started “healing” the undead, only then did they notice all those who came back were the ones that had died the year previous to the one of the uprising. D’Artagnan started hoping, Tréville did not dare: Porthos, Athos and Aramis had been buried in the cemetery nearby, their tombs held the signs that something had dug its way out but no one had seen them. Tréville didn’t want to hope only to find out they had been killed once again.

But then the treatment center called: Three PDS going by the names of Aramis, Athos and Porthos had been found and treated and had named him as a potential carer. Funny how destiny worked.

)0(

D’Artagnan fidgeted in his seat during the entire car ride. Tréville was about to slap him on the back of his head when the treatment center finally came to view. The lad was out before he had properly parked the car.  
The two men waited anxiously for a few minutes in a waiting room, witnessing other emotive reunions that only made them more nervous for what was about to come. Would they still be the men they knew? Had death (and resurrection) changed them? A nurse finally came to get them and lead them into another room.

Suddenly, there they were. Athos, Porthos and Aramis turned their heads as one when D’Artagnan and Tréville entered. They stood up like they always had, Athos in the middle Aramis on his right, Porthos on his left, as the nurse left to give them time to talk and for a moment, everybody froze. Tréville looked them over: they looked healthy but the doctors had already told him that they were wearing makeup that gave them their natural skin colour and had contact lenses for their eyes. However, he could guess the row of stiches over Athos’ stomach where a knife had ripped him open, the bullet wound where Aramis’ heart was supposed to be and the stab wound at the back of Porthos’ head, hidden by the Bandana he wore over his head. He bit his lip: these men had deserved peace, not the treatment of a lab rat.  
D’Artagnan, bless him, hesitated barely a second before jumping forward and dragging his three big brothers in a hug that they returned with a laugh. This immediately broke the tense atmosphere and Tréville stepped forward to tap them on the shoulder like he used to.

Athos nodded at him, Aramis dragged him in a hug anyways and Porthos laughed and gave him a powerful clap on the back. For a moment, it was like they never left.

)0(

Tréville was trying hard not to lose his patience and snap at the doctor. The man was strolling in the gardens of the center explain various stuff Tréville was still not listening to, walking with arrogance, keeping D’Artagnan and the captain at his side whilst the three men they were here for where left to trail behind them like dogs.  
D’Artagnan was not happy about that either. He kept throwing glances behind him, wanting nothing more than to slow down and walk besides them.  
They gave him reassuring smiles as they kept walking at a regular pace behind. Every so often Tréville would see them brush their hands together in a gesture he knew was meant to bring comfort.

)0(

The car ride back was a lot merrier. Sitting at the back of the car between Porthos and Aramis, D’Artagnan chatted vividly, barely letting them time to answer. Next to him Athos rolled his eyes, looking at his captain for help. Tréville simply shrugged and threw him a glance of his own see what you left me to deal with. Athos smirked.  
Tréville was amused, yet not surprised when he learned the three had stuck together even in their untreated state and that the medics had not managed to separate them, quickly realizing that the best way to keep them obedient was to keep them together. There was a brief wave of nervousness between the three men when their untreated state was mentioned but once again, D’Artagnan saved the day.  
“Did they have to knock Porthos out to treat him?” he asked, already grinning.  
“No, but you should have seen him! He was clutching our hands so hard we were afraid he would break them!” Exclaimed Aramis.  
“I was most certainly not” Squawked Porthos  
Aramis threw him a stare that cleared said you certainly were before Porthos brought his hand around D’Artagnan to attempt to punch Aramis on the shoulder. There was a quick squabbled with D’Artagnan stuck in the middle.  
“Children” Growled Tréville. The two settled down.  
Satisfied, the captain turned back to the road. They were nearing town and now the three resurrected soldiers were looking outside in curiosity.  
“What’s the FHV*?” asked Athos, referring to the various posters and graffitis becoming more and more frequent.  
Tréville clenched his jaw and saw D’Artagnan straighten up in what he knew was a protective stance.  
“Nothing you need to worry about, I promise.”  
His behavior discouraged any further questions-for now.

Not everyone agreed with letting people like Athos, Porthos and Aramis back into society, but Tréville was damned if he would let those people bother him and his boys.

)0(

Constance was waiting for them at his house when they arrived. She dragged Athos into a hug, was smothered in Porthos’ arms and twirled around by Aramis. She made a point at looking them over properly whilst D’Artagnan and Tréville brought all their stuff inside.  
“Makeup really does do miracles” she muttered.  
“I’ll lend you some of mine if you want” Said Aramis with a grin.  
Constance slapped him earning a chuckle from the recipient and a full hearted laugh from Porthos. Athos once again rolled his eyes at their antics and Tréville couldn’t hold back his smile at the familiarity of the scene.

Constance ushered everyone to Tréville’s dining table that was barely big enough to give space to everyone and placed a full meal of meat and potatoes at the center.  
“Not for me, thank you.” Said Aramis as she was about to serve him. This earned him a look of surprise.  
“We don’t eat.” Explained Athos. “It’s not good for us since our internal organs are a bit... out of function”  
The couple oohed in understanding. Next to him, Porthos groaned.  
“Shame really. I really like your meals Constance.”  
D’Artagnan smirked.  
“Don’t worry, Porthos. I’ll eat your share for you”  
This earned his a glare from the big man and a laugh from everyone else.

Once dinner was over it was getting late. Constance and D’Artagnan left for their own house after making sure Tréville had everything set up for them and repeating more than once that they were right next door, would visit every day, were expecting them to visit...

Tréville gently ushered them out under the amused looks of his men, then gave them a tour of his house.

)0(

Tréville’s instincts were proved to be right once again when Athos, Porthos and Aramis told him they preferred to stick together for the night.  
Tréville told them he had only prepared one room anyways, their relieved smiles was a reward by itself.

)0(

Tréville was surprised the next morning by a knock on his door. Outside a pretty blonde woman with deep blue eyes was waiting for him.  
“My name is Ninon DeLarocque and I am this town’s PDS care helper. I’m here to teach you how to give them their medicine”  
Without further ado, she pushed her way in, made her way to the living room and started getting material out of her bag. A bit at loss, Tréville climbed up the stairs to wake up Athos and the other two. He found them debating whether or not to apply their makeup and contact lenses.  
“Leave that and come down” Said Tréville. “A lady is here to instruct me about your medicine.”

Ninon was waiting for them in the middle of the living room. With her high heels, short blue dress and stern look, the captain found her a bit intimidating but there was a certain tenderness in her eyes that told him she was there to help.  
“Right, boys” She said “You know the rules: if Monsieur Tréville is not bothered, you do not need to wear the makeup but to go outside, it is mandatory”  
All four of them turned an expectant stare at him. Tréville looked at his boys’ pale skin and white eyes with only a black stripe in the middle as a pupil and shrugged figuring it was something he could easily get used to.  
“Do what you want, I don’t mind”  
Ninon nodded, looking quite satisfied with his answer and picked up a small case for the table that she handed to Tréville.  
“This is all the material that you need to give their medication. You have to give them their injections every day at the same time or there could be complications.”  
Tréville opened the case and found something that looked like a hot glue gun and tubes of a transparent liquid.  
“I’ll show you how to use that”  
She took the materials from his hands and headed towards Athos who was sitting on the couch. She placed himself behind him and indicated to Tréville to do the same. She placed the tube in the gun, gently lowered Athos collar as the man braced himself on the couch to reveal a small hole at the top of the spine. She placed the gun against it pressed and gently took it away. Tréville couldn’t help but notice the small flinch, but the lack of reaction from Aramis and Porthos told him this was a normal occurrence.  
“You try it now”  
He imitated Ninon’s movements for Porthos and Aramis and everything went smoothly.  
“They can do it to themselves if they want to. As long as it’s regular, there is no problem”

Ninon packed her stuff and Tréville accompanied her to the door. Before she left, she turned towards him and placed a hand on his arm.  
“I am entitled by the law to give you this, which is ridiculous, if you ask me but they will be taken away if you don’t have one”  
She handed him a Taser that Tréville took with a grimace.  
“I would also be careful, the people around him tend to be... closed minded about this whole thing. Richelieu is convinced they are demons and has organised patrols” she sighed. “Be careful with them”  
“I can handle Richelieu, don’t worry, and so can they. But I will”  
“If you need any help or have questions, come and see me.” She smiled “I have three of them as well.”  
With those final words, she left, crossing D’Artagnan on her way down.  
“Who was that?” he asked  
“Help.”  
With that, he shoved the Taser in a drawer and headed back for his kitchen where his breakfast was still waiting. He quietly sipped at his cup of coffee, listening to D’Artagnan being interrogated about his marriage with the woman previously known as Madame Bonacieux.

)0(

Richelieu and Tréville were lifelong rivals and sworn enemies. Richelieu had been the advisor of Tréville’s boss and the captain of a rival regiment and the two men often found themselves at each other’s throats for various reasons, mostly because they were always ready to have opposite opinions. They hated each other’s guts.  
Richelieu not long before Tréville for “personal” reasons the captain did not bother to ask more details about. He had been too happy to be rid of him. Unfortunately, fate was a wicked mistress and the two found themselves in the same town. Neighbors. Richelieu was now the vicar of town and Tréville’s neighbor on the left but their pride being stronger than their hate for each other, none of the two men wanted to move. That would be handing victory to the other on a silver plate. The result was composed of screaming duels, spying from the window facing the other’s house, regular projectiles of liter on the other’s lawn and whose-music-could-be-the-loudest competitions. Most people stayed out of it and didn’t dare complain. D’Artagnan regularly helped Tréville, mostly by providing heavy metal music which always defeated Italian opera.  
This also explained why Richelieu was on to him as soon as Ninon left his house.

“Are you collecting rotters now Tréville?”  
The captain internally cringed at the offensive term and proceeded to roll his garbage on the sidewalk to be collected. He made a point of placing it neatly before turning to face the vicar standing on his lawn with his hands crossed behind him.  
“Whatever gave you this idea?” he sighed  
“Madame DeLarocque is known to... sympathize with the cause of these demons. Her sudden visit to your house is rather suspicious.”  
“I’m sure it is. Fortunately, I don’t happen to care”  
Tréville turned to head back to his house which would usually end the conversation but Richelieu was in a good mood today.  
“Didn’t you lose your three favourites the year before the uprising? Are you waiting for the phone call that will suddenly bring them back or have their career of brain munchers already ended? I could always... pray for their souls, God knows they need it.”  
“Their soul is perfectly fine, Aramis made sure of that. As for their brain munching careers, yes it has ended. I only regret they didn’t get yours before.”  
With those words, he left determined to stay in a good mood and ignored Richelieu’s threat being thrown his way.  
“I will find out! I will find out and what is left of their brains will be decorating the sidewalk before you can even blink!”  
“The only brain that will be plastering the side walk is yours is you keep disturbing my peace, you uncultured swine!”  
Tréville closed his door with a sigh and entered the main hall to see three grown men crowded in front of the window looking towards Richelieu’s house. Aramis and Porthos were chuckling, most likely at the Vicar’s offended face but Athos turned to him upon his entrance.  
“Nice to see you still have that fire in you, captain” he said

His face was neutral but Tréville recognize the tone as the one Athos used when he was proud of something or someone.  
“Yes well, someone has to stand to that imbecile or he’d turn the whole town into a sect”

)0(

Tréville deeply respected Athos. He was a silent man but had that power to convey so many words in a look or a posture which explained why the others considered him as their leader even if technically they were all on the same level. Despite the drinking and the ghosts of the past that clung to him like chains, he always seemed to know what to do, he had a plan. Aramis, Porthos and D’Artagnan always turned to him for advice and approval like one seeks the affection of a father. Richelieu could scream all he wanted; Athos was the same man dead, alive or undead. Minus the drinking. Poor man could only look at the bottle and sigh: apparently death was something you had to face sober.

)0(

Athos, Porthos and Aramis managed to stay put in the house for an entire week, a bloody miracle. They spent their days reading, watching TV, talking with D’Artagnan and Constance, helping around the house and just generally keeping their captain company (because despite not being one anymore, he was still their captain). Their reckless and adventurous nature quickly caught up with.  
Tréville wasn’t surprised when he came home that day after a quick trip to the grocery store only to find it empty. Despite knowing in the back of his mind this would eventually happen, he couldn’t help the cold feeling of dread that coursed up his spine. They were outside in a small town where people were still refusing the presence of PDS and were downright aggressive about it (thanks to bloody Richelieu). He grabbed a gun that he tucked in a holster hanging at his belt and ran out. Making sure he wasn’t looking too panicked he circled around town asking himself where he would go were he an undead soldier with two friends glued at the hip and always up for anything. He found them at the cemetery.

They were sitting down on the wet grass in front of their graves. Stopping close enough to see them but far enough not to be seen Tréville felt all anxiousness melt away. Porthos was sitting between his two friends and had a firm arm around their waist, his head was on Aramis’ who had his on his shoulder and was curled in a ball at his side. Athos also had his head on Porthos’ shoulder but his legs were sprawled in front of him and he was drawing small circles in the small of the big man’s back. Tréville could guess all their hands were linked in front of them despite not being able to see them: this slightly intimate position was one they often found themselves in.  
He observed them a few minutes, and then decided to leave. They deserved their peace. They would be fine.

)0(

Porthos always impressed Tréville. He was a strong man, both physically and emotionally and yet, always seemed to wear his heart on his sleeves. He was that big comfort blanket, always trying to shield his friends from all the hurts of the world and hating more than anything to be powerless. Tréville knew this was somehow related to a childhood in an abusive or at least neglecting household and the loss of a mother and he was glad the man had decided to open up instead of curling inside himself and rot there. He was the lion running free and the thunderstorm wiping all in his path.

)0(

Tréville had left Athos, Porthos and Aramis at Constance’s and D’Artagnan’s house whilst he was working his shift at the police station. He was on his way home when he decided to make quick stop at the pub to eat, because anyways he would be eating alone and didn’t want to bother Constance for a meal. Just as he sat down, two FHV entered as well and sat down at the table next to him, exchanging rabid PDS hunt stories and various offensive anecdotes. Tréville had nothing against FHV in particular, but the extremist ones like those two who were downright offensive and aggressive, he could not stand. Decided on ignoring them, he turned his attention to the menu when one of their walkie-talkies rang.  
In need for assistance, rotter alert on Rue Lafontaine.  
Rue Lafontaine.  
That was his street.  
In a blur, all thoughts of a meal fled away and he was up and running under the pouring rain towards D’Artagnan’s house to warn them and protect the three men he could not bear to lose again. He found them all in the living room playing a board game.  
“We need to hide them, quick” he said pointing at Athos, Porthos and Aramis. “Richelieu’s men got a tip and are heading for this street.”  
At once, Constance and D’Artagnan were up and running. She led them upstairs to hide them in a bedroom whilst he and D’Artagnan collected their old guns.

When the FHV arrived in the street, Constance was covering the back door, D’Artagnan was at a window, surveying the street and Tréville had planted himself at the door hoping the boys upstairs were hiding and not doing something stupid like looking out the window. Nobody could have guessed the events that followed.

Richelieu came up to their door and calmly knocked. Hiding his gun behind him and forcing himself to look calm Tréville went to open, sensing D’Artagnan tense besides him.  
“Good evening Tréville” Said Richelieu. “You and your two little friends might want to come out and see this”  
He turned away and went to stand in the middle of the street, his umbrella making his shadow on the pavement all the more menacing. He nodded at two of his men who proceeded to break down the door of the house in front and enter. They came out a few seconds later dragging a woman and throwing her at the vicar’s feet. Upon closer observation, Tréville realised this was Madame Mauvoisin who happened to have died a few month before the rising.  
“NO!”  
Out of the house, Monsieur Mauvoisin came running. He was grabbed by the arms and held in place by one of FHV before he could reach his wife.  
“Well, well Monsieur” Said Richelieu “and here I thought you were a faithful follower of my church. Thank God I do not trust easily and quickly found out that you were harboring this... monster.”  
He wiped out a gun of his trench coat and placed it at the back of Madame Mauvoisin’s head.  
“Please, Monsieur! She has done nothing wrong!”  
“Nothing wrong? She’s a rotter! Everything is wrong with that! Or are you telling me this is not Madame Mauvoisin whom I last remember seeing in a coffin?”  
“No... no... it’s not her... It’s her sister!”  
“ah, her sister.”  
For a second, Richelieu seemed to accept the explanation but his features hardened immediately after and he took of the safety of the gun.  
“Of course”  
Tréville felt Constance and D’Artagnan also watching behind him and knew that they were both horrified and enraged by how powerless they were.  
“Please, Monsieur” pleaded Madame Mauvoisin gently, “I take my medicine every day, I stay home, I pray... I won’t do anything bad, I promise”  
Richelieu retrieved his gun and kneeled before her.  
“Tell me Madame, why do your eyes look like mine?” He asked in a gentle voice, Tréville knew was a subterfuge.  
“I’m wearing my contact lenses” she replied  
“Can you take them off for me?”  
“NO, Don’t do it!”  
Ignoring her husband he gently nodded at her in encouragement. Slowly she brought her hands to her face and took the lenses off revealing her blank eyes and deformed pupil.  
“That’s better” Said Richelieu, smilling.  
She smiled back, he got up and Promptly shot her in the head. Her head smashed on the road in a puddle of black blood and brain matter. Monsieur Mauvoisin was released and he ran towards her, sobbing.  
“Once a Rotter, Always a Rotter!” shouted Richelieu.

He turned and made eye contact with Tréville, his gaze holding an underlined threat. Tréville made his equally menacing then turned to usher the shocked couple in. He went upstairs to see how the boys were faring and saw them tangled together on the bed.

Of course, they had seen everything.

)0(

Tréville admired Aramis. Unlike Porthos and Athos he had built a façade of smiles and laughs behind which he hid constantly. The only ones to have ever climbed over it were his two closest brothers. D’Artagnan had come close but the process had been interrupted rather brutally by the death of his friends. What Tréville Really admired though, was the faith Aramis had in God, his friends and himself. Despite the bad days, he truly believed everyone had a chance of redemption and not just in a religious way. He gave hope, he sewed people back together and pushed them back on their way. Tréville didn’t believe in God, but he could in Aramis’.

)0(

Porthos, Athos and Aramis came home one day, carrying a drunk D’Artagnan from the pub. Tréville did not have time to lament over the fact that now it was certain Richelieu knew about them that D’Artagnan had emptied the content of his stomach on his carpet and he decided he was too tired to care. The next morning, a very much hung-over D’Artagnan explained that they had received a call from the treatment center. Monsieur Bonacieux had been found and Constance, the saint, had accepted to take him in (poor woman still felt guilty of his death even if it was not her fault at all).

Tréville did not know the details of the emotionally abusive relationship of Constance and her ex-husband, but he knew enough not to like it. Judging by their suddenly protective stance, the others didn’t either.

For mental support and because there was no way D’Artagnan would let Constance alone with HIM again, he went with her when she went to pick him up. Tréville let himself be dragged by his three men to their house while they were gone and simply took a seat and opened the daily news to read them whilst the others came up with a plan. They sat on the couch, makeup and contacts off and waited. When Bonacieux was heard outside- Already complaining- they straightened up. Tréville looked on, amused, as Aramis got up, put an arm around the man’s shoulders and flashed him his best I’m-being-lovely- now- but –will- punch –you- so- hard –as –soon- as- I get –the- chance smile. He was forcefully sat between Athos and Porthos who turned to face him and the three proceeded to state all the conditions he had to respect and the consequences of not respecting these conditions.

D’Artagnan and Constance looked relieved, Bonacieux scared witless and Tréville felt enormously proud.

)0(

Between the three of them, they had a soul, a heart and a head. That was enough for a man to be complete. That made them inseparable. Like puzzle pieces.

)0(

Things were normal. Athos, Porthos and Aramis made it clear they would not let the threat of Richelieu put an end to their happiness and started to get out more. They often found themselves at the pub, the cemetery or even at the Grocery store, sometimes on their own, most of time dragging D’Artagnan along and sometimes tagging along with Tréville or Constance. Every once in a while, they would go “keep company” to Bonacieux and made sure he kept his end of the deal.  
The Captain let them. They were grownups after all and was confident they could fend off for themselves. That didn’t stop him from keeping a close eye on Richelieu.

The two men kept their routine of screaming duels, spying from the window facing the other’s house, regular projectiles of liter on the other’s lawn and whose-music-could-be-the-loudest competitions to the great amusement of the three boys who often found themselves being the subject discussed and the glad spectators of this showdown.

Every once in a while, Tréville would receive an add warning against PDS sufferers turning rabid again, he would find a journal page with the gory story of a PDS returned to his family and eating their brains soon after and in the street would hear the followers of Richelieu’s church gossip. He would simply burn the adds, tape the journal page with the requirements of someone looking for a sexual partner on Richelieu’s door and glare at everyone talking behind his back.

At the end of the day, he would play cards with Porthos (making sure he wasn’t cheating), discussing literature with Athos, philosophy with Aramis and eating dinner with Constance and D’Artagnan.

That was enough, for now. He kept hope.

**Author's Note:**

> *FHV is the abreviation of "Force Humaine Volontaire" Which is the french version of "Human volunteer force (HVF). Since they live in France I decided it made more sense if a french abreviation was used.
> 
> The only scene I took from the show is the one where Richelieu shoots Madame Mauvoisin (well, except for the names of course)
> 
> There are a lot more details about a lot of things coming, a lot of fluff and cuddles and angst as well! Ask away if you have any questions.... I will anwser provided the anwser will not be in a future fic!
> 
> Comments are always apreciated, tell me what you think! Tellllll meeeee!
> 
> Next part, comming soon, (Dun, Dun, Dun)


End file.
